


Served Cold

by Lanning



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Canadian Shack, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-12-31
Updated: 2001-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-03 10:50:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lanning/pseuds/Lanning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all for Starsky's own good. He sees things a little differently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Served Cold

**Author's Note:**

> Part of [101 Ways To End Up In A Canadian Shack](http://www.trickster.org/speranza/ShackedUp.html), one of my happiest writing experiences. :)

Starsky's life passed before his eyes.

"Put them down."

"No!"

Hutch approached menacingly. "And keep your hands where I can see them."

Starsky clutched his burden to his chest defiantly and backed away. "Forget it!"

"You've got too much to live for, Starsk."

Starsky's butt hit the wall. "Live for?" He laughed bitterly. "Look at me! I'm shot up, stuck on disability--"

"It's temporary," Hutch interrupted soothingly, stepping closer.

"--and then dragged off and locked up in this North Pole outhouse for six weeks--"

"It's for your own good, Starsk."

"--by some basket-weaving nature-freak--"

"You'll thank me for this, you'll see."

"--who lied to me--"

"I didn't exactly lie..."

"Does this look like St. Thomas to you?" Starsky shouted, kicking the wall behind him for emphasis.

"Now, look," Hutch said in a businesslike tone. "The doctor said you need quiet and fresh air and healthy food, and that's what you're going to get. So put that poison down."

"Don't come any closer," Starsky snarled. "One more step and I start chug-a-lugging the M&amp;Ms."

Hutch stopped where he was, then assumed a hurt expression. "You really want to die, Starsk? You want to leave me? I thought we had something. Something special."

"You scum-bag rat," Starsky said in a deadly tone.

"I guess I was wrong," Hutch sighed, turning aside, shoulders bent in defeat. "Well, don't expect me to make love--"

"I hate your guts, you mangy yellow-haired freak."

"--to a man who wants to kill himself."

"I hope a moose eats you."

"Because I love you, Starsk, and it's just too painful to watch."

"You would stoop this low?" Starsky hissed, clutching his treasure so tightly he felt the Snickers bars squish. "You would make a man choose between sex and food?"

"Yes," Hutch said solemnly. "That's how much I love you."

Starsky locked his gaze on those sorrowful, evil eyes for a moment. "Fine," he said finally. "I'll lose it." He paused, watching the slow smile of triumph spread across Hutch's face. "When you shave your mustache."

Hutch's jaw dropped, his eyes widened, his hand flew to his upper lip. "My mustache? Why?"

"Because...it's unsanitary. It gets food stuck in it, and it attracts bugs."

"It does not attract bugs," Hutch said indignantly.

"It's bad for your health," Starsky insisted with great earnestness. "And I love you too much to let you hurt yourself like that."

Hutch's eyes narrowed dangerously.

Starsky smiled sweetly.

"You first," Hutch said between gritted teeth. "In the bucket."

Starsky sidled past Hutch to the door, raised the latch and stepped outside into the bitter cold. Stifling a groan, he dumped his treasure into the bucket that passed for their toilet. He looked up to see Hutch watching with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Now you."

Hutch stood stock-still, horror-stricken.

"Don't even think about welching," Starsky growled.

Hutch swallowed hard, then picked up Starsky's coat and threw it to him. "Take a walk."

"Now just a--"

"Take a walk! A man needs to be alone at a time like this." Hutch walked to the small table beside the bed, picked up his razor, and turned away.

Starsky shut the door and strolled to the side of the shack. Pausing beside the snowdrift, he glanced around cautiously, then squatted and dug into the snow a few inches. He was instantly rewarded with the bright glint of many candy wrappers. He pulled one out, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth. "Oh, yeah," he murmured. "Best served cold."

 

End


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